


Hello, Stranger

by kylosbrickhousebody



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Angst and Feels, F/M, Financial Issues, Modern Era, Sugar Daddy, sugar daddy kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-08 01:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylosbrickhousebody/pseuds/kylosbrickhousebody
Summary: Rey needs money. Ben Solo has it.She registers on a Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby website. Ben might just have a profile.





	1. Nameless Stranger

Rey frowned. “I don’t know.”

Her friend glanced across the table as she touched up her lipstick. “Well,” Ana replied, “ _I_ know. You really should do it, Rey. It would solve your problems.”

“I just don’t know if I’m a sugar daddy kind of girl.”

Her friend set down a compact and makeup brush.

“Do you need money?”

Rey pressed her lips together and nodded. That much was obvious.

“And you’re not all old-fashioned what women should and shouldn’t do?”

Rey shrugged. _Of course not_.

“Well then you’re a sugar daddy type of girl.”

Her friend returned to touching up her makeup, her golden-blonde balayage locks catching the sun just right. Ana _was_ a sugar daddy type of girl, all poised and tan and beautiful. But _Rey?_

Rey slums it around campus. When Ana labors to meticulously curl or straighten her hair for the day, Rey’s lucky if she manages a decent-looking messy bun. Where Ana picks out fashionable clothes, Rey yanks on old leggings and a top she manages to pick off the floor.

“I mean,” her friend cut across her thoughts, “Poldin just bought me a YSL purse. A YSL purse! I mean, come on.”

She blinked. “I don’t think I want a YSL purse, though.”

“ _Rey_ , _come on_. You know what I mean. These New York guys, they’re loaded. And, I mean, they’re just men; they’re not _that_ hard to please. They just need a little attention and—” she made a popping noise with her mouth, quirking an eyebrow knowingly “—you got ‘em.”

Rey couldn’t help but laugh with her ridiculous, absurdly materialistic friend.

“I mean, I think I’d rather just save up—” she started.

“Save up?” her friend thrust the bag, clutched by perfectly-painted cream nails, across the table. “This little thing is $3,250.”

An entire semester’s worth of work at her on-campus job.

“And Poldin gave it to me like it was nothing. Not even an anniversary gift or a special occasion. He called it a _dinner gift_ , Rey. NYC guys are nuts.”

“But I don’t want a –”

“I know, I know, _you don’t want handbags_ ,” Ana held up a hand, rolling her eyes, “but Rey, just think: how much would your life change if a guy just handed you $3,250 for going to dinner with him? You could quit that math department job you hate. You’d never have to see that asshole assistant dean again!”

She sighed, rotating the drink in her hands. Even things like this—a tall chai latte—felt like such an indulgence. _Too much_ of an indulgence. When she got back to her apartment, she’d have to pull up her spreadsheet and figure out what she needed to give up to off-set the $4.25 she’d blown on Starbucks—

“I guess,” she heard herself saying faintly. “But… it can’t just be for dinner, Ana. I mean… _you know_. No one drops that kind of money just for dinner.”

A soft sigh came from across the table. “I mean, would you _not_ want to sleep with someone trying so hard to make you comfortable? I’m just saying, it was a pretty natural progression for me.”

She paused.

“Look, just find the right kind of guy and you’ll be fine. Seriously, there are a lot of nice ones. So many of the sugar daddies out there are just deeply lonely. I mean, sure, they also want to fuck—” she earned a blush “—but really, they’re lonely. I think having too much money only makes them feel worse, like they should be doing something better with it. _You’re_ that something better.”

Rey mulled over the advice, some of the froth from her drink settling on her upper lip as she sipped. She swiped it away with a distinctly-unmanicured finger.

“I’ll think about it”

Ana squealed her delight.

“Oh my god! We’re going to have so much fun.” The blonde picked up her phone, texting furiously. “I—one sec—I’m getting you a hair and nail appointment with my lady. Let’s get you, like, eyelash extensions, and some nice highlights, you can get your eyebrows threaded, and a shellac—”

“Ana.”

“Yeah?” Her friend peered over the rhinestoned gadget.

“I don’t—I think I just want to try… how I am right now.”

Ana stared, slightly open-mouthed.

“Oh. God, Rey, I mean, I wasn’t saying you’re not pretty— _you’re so pretty_ —I just. You know. Men.”

“Yeah,” Rey repeated softly, “men.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re doing _what_?” Finn practically yelled.

“Shhh. Christ—” Rey took another deep breath, “I told you: I’m going to try to find a sugar daddy.”

“Oh my _God_ , Rey.”

“I know,” she said quickly, embarrassment rising on her cheeks, “I’ll—”

“This is the best day of my _life_!”

It was like she’d been frozen in place.

“Er, sorry, what?” she asked, happening to sound a _bit_ more sardonic-Brit than she’d intended.

“This. Is. TheBestDayOfMyLife—” Finn breathed out all at once, springing into action. He whipped open a cabinet, rifling through with uncalled for vigor. “I mean, I can’t, of course— _Poe wouldn’t be happy at all_ —but man am I jealous. You’re really gettin’ it, eh? This is so exciting! I can paint your nails—”

“Finn—”

“I can help you stage all your profile pictures—”

“Finn—”

“We’ll get you some of those cute up-your-ass bikini bottoms that—”

“FINN—”

He stopped, gaping at her. “ _What?_ ”

“I really, really just want to be low-key with this.”

He straightened up, a small frown tugging at the side of his mouth. “Oh, Peanut.” He reached out for her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “You don’t have to be anybody you don’t want to be.”

She sniffled once, leaning into the warm chest of her _kind, sweet, very gay_ best friend.

“But I’m just sayin’, you’re not gonna have that body forever, _so_ —” he pulled back slightly, moving his fingers like he was taking pictures on an old camera. “ _Click click_.”

They both erupted in giggles.

 

* * *

 

 

“Finn—” she croaked, stomach at a very odd angle as she tried to rest her hand on her hip just as he’d said. She leaned forward onto their futon, limbs splayed awkwardly as she tried to push her tube-dress-clad butt up, smile for the camera, and—somehow—manage not to look like this was _totally and completely staged_.

“I don’t think there’s any way I could possibly look sexy—”

“Yeah. Nope.” He turned his head to the side, obviously trying to figure out a better playbook of poses. She stood up straight for the first time in what felt like ages, stretching her arms out. “Hm, I mean, when Alessandra Ambrosio—”

“I’m not a supermodel—”

“I mean, you _are_ , but that’s neither here nor there—”

She broke into a goofy smile.

He snapped a picture. Leaning back on his heels, he pressed the back button on the camera. “Oh! Hey, hey! I like this one. Look at this—”

She peered at the screen, fully expecting to hate whatever photo she found there.

She didn’t.

“Oh.”

“You look really happy.” He grinned—a wide, warm Finn smile.

“Yeah,” she said softly, I really do.

“It could be a good headshot—like your main profile pic—”

“But if I crop it at the shoulders, I look naked.”

He peered up at her through offensively long lashes.

“I don’t think any straight dude is gonna have an issue with that.”

Rey only managed to snort and roll her eyes. She plopped down onto the couch, throwing her arms to the side in a dramatic display of tiredness.

“Okay, I know you’re probably really tired of wearing heels, but I really think a bikini pho—”

“Finn.”

“—you just really need like a Kardashian-style owning-your-body moment—”

“Finn—”

“—buns aren’t gonna look that great forever—”

“FINN!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you get it yet,” Rey hissed through gritted teeth.

“Almost, almost,” Finn coaxed. “You can’t rush greatness.”

“Ohmygod,” she breathed, letting out the stomach she’d been sucking in. “I can’t—”

“No, please, Rey, you look _so_ great. You’ll be so happy you have these in 20 years, trust me.”

She sighed and flipped her hair back around to look over her shoulder.

 _Yeah, so what that my ass cheeks are fully hanging out of these bottoms right now,_ she thought, trying to somehow summon the facial expression Finn had described.

“What would you know about aging?” she called back testily, “You’re 24!”

“Poe—”

“Oh, _Poe_ ,” Rey finished in a sing-song voice. “What did _Poe_ tell you?” She batted her eyelashes smugly at her friend.

“Hey—” he pulled a face, his cheeks blushing at the mention of his boyfriend, “You want all these years of experience from taking Grindr photos or not?”

She snorted. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Finn offered to edit the pictures because he was thoughtful like that. She told him ‘no’, though; everybody might as well see her flaws now, because they’d certainly see them if—

If—

Was she _really_ doing this?

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She sat in front of her beat-up laptop, nestled in her cramped room. Well, technically it wasn’t even a room, it was a walk-in closet off Finn’s bedroom that they converted into a room—

She sighed, pushing her money woes to the back of her mind.

Burgundy letters stared back at her from her computer screen.

 _Seeking Arrangement_.

She’d heard it was the best website—Ana used it—and articles online seemed to agree. Sure, the active user base was small and there’d probably still be lots of weeding through gross men, but it seemed like her best shot.

> >Register

She clicked once and copy-pasted Ana’s referral code before she could second-guess herself.

> >Welcome!

Rey was showering an hour later when Ben, 2.2 miles away, laid down on his bed.

He flicked lazily through notifications.

_Work email._

_Work email._

_A text; Hux has a stick up his ass again—_

> _8 new SA members._

He clicked the bottom notification, ready to peruse another set of women who would inevitably reveal some deal-breaking requirement.

Ben had sympathy for the girls on the site, he really did. He understood business well enough to know how terribly capitalism could treat the downtrodden. But—sympathy notwithstanding—he couldn’t stomach the idea of spending time with someone _only_ because they needed his money. He’d managed a few relationships with women who were at least good at politely pretending otherwise, but he couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t dated in over a year. It still hurt.

When he could, he scrolled through the new members, hoping he’d find a match before someone else grabbed her up—before someone else toyed around with her or jaded her idea of sugaring.

> _Anne, 21: Hi! I’d love to be your princess—_

_Nope._

> _Sarah, 23: I’m premed at—_

_Fine. Education was good._

He stopped reading the mini-bio and clicked on her profile to expand it. She was beautiful: his type for sure. Smart, too; she described sitting for her MCATs and the list of med schools she was applying to.

He clicked away with regret: none of the schools were in NY state.

> _Jamie, 18: Hi—_

_Too young._

> _Catherine, 24: My three kids are the loves of my life—_

_Cool. But not for me._

It kept on like this, each profile less eligible than the last, until he was ready to put his phone down and get some sleep. Until—

> _Rey, 20: Hello, I’m Rey—_

_Odd name. Probably one of those name-generator pseudonyms again._

He shrugged, blinking his tired eyes, and clicked.

> _—Most days, you’ll find me studying in the library or working on campus. I enjoy keeping a tight-knit group of friends close to me. More than anything, I love meeting interested people; we could talk about the most random topic—I just like when people teach me about the things they’re excited about._

A girl with a toothy, bright grin and wide, happy eyes smiled at him. Her hair was a little ruffled in a way that suggested it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe it really was a candid photo.

The profile was… _odd_. She mentioned none of the things sugar babies usually did. He frowned: it was both a negative and a positive. He paused to scan her information list.

> _Looking for: Men_
> 
> _Lifestyle Expectation: Negotiable_
> 
> _Height: 5’7”_
> 
> _Body Type: Athletic_
> 
> _Ethnicity: White/Caucasian_
> 
> _Education: In College (Bachelor’s)_
> 
> _Relationship: Single_
> 
> _Children: 0_
> 
> _Smokes: Non Smoker_
> 
> _Drinks: Social Drinker_

He wouldn’t usually message a girl with such a short profile—but there was just something about her. Her entire profile—every single element—read like she was a genuine person.

He quirked an eyebrow.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey absolutely groaned when she discovered she already had 32 notifications.

“God,” she said aloud to no one in particular, “who knew there would be so much spam.”

She mussed a towel in her hair, attempting to dry it off with one hand while deleting messages with the other.

> > _HungMan23 requests access to your private photos._

_Deleted._

> _> RichGuy4u: Hi bby send ur bobs pics pls_

_Deleted._

And on it went. Until—

> _> KyloRen: What do you study?_

She stopped and bit a lip. A ‘hi’ would’ve been nice. That said, no one else had asked a question—a real question—all night.

She clicked on his profile, dragging the towel covering her body to cover her cold shoulders.

> _Photo: Empty_
> 
> _Name: "N/A"_
> 
> _Description: “N/A”_
> 
> _Age: 34_
> 
> _Looking for: Women_
> 
> _Budget: Open - Negotiable_
> 
> _Height: 6’3”_
> 
> _Body Type: Athletic_
> 
> _Ethnicity: White/Caucasian_
> 
> _Education: Advanced Degree_
> 
> _Relationship: Single_
> 
> _Children: 0_
> 
> _Smokes: Non Smoker_
> 
> _Drinks: Social Drinker_

She blinked at the incredibly sparse info. _No_ name _? Was he_ nuts _?_ She went to click out of his profile—to delete his spam message—when she noticed it on the upper right-hand corner of his profile.

> _> Background Check Cleared_
> 
> _> Identity Verified_
> 
> _> Income Verified_
> 
> _> Diamond Status_

_She blinked once, twice, three times._

Who was this guy with absolutely no info but every site verification you could have? She’d only seen one other profile with a background check tag, let alone identity and income verifications… or whatever diamond status was.

She googled the term with more than incidental shame.  

_Diamond Club Elite: Only for the best._

_Our Diamond Club sugar daddies are identity and income verified. At $2,400 a year, these members are—_

She stopped reading. $2,400 _a year?_ For _this_ site? _Christ._

She switched back, slowly; somehow, she felt like she’d seen something she wasn’t allowed to, even though she knew perfectly well the badge was displayed on his profile. She took a deep breath, decided to give the description-less guy a chance, and messaged the nameless stranger KyloRen.

> _> ReyRomano: hi :) I study computer science and math at Tandon_


	2. 111K Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments on Chapter 1! Maybe it's a character flaw, but they really are such motivators for me.

Ben Solo groaned and rolled over.

“Alexa, stop.”

The blue-ringed speaker in the corner turned off its alarm.

He covered his eyes with an arm—the blinds had already raised themselves—and grunted. It was 6:30, and faint light was already beginning to creep into his penthouse bedroom. Pouring rain beat against the glass floor-to-ceiling windows and whipped the plants his housekeeper _insisted_ the patio needed.

It was too early to get up. He wasn’t ready for this week.

He stared out his window instead, eyes still bleary and adjusting. Ben lived in Tribeca, a trapezoidal neighborhood in Lower Manhattan that was originally inhabited by merchants and laborers during the industrial revolution. Now thoroughly gentrified, the neighborhood was overrun with not-starving artists and celebrities. He purchased his residence for its view of the financial district. He had a direct view of One World Trade Center—Freedom Tower, as more sentimental people called it—out his bedroom window. This morning there was, gratefully, no piercing reflection of the sun on its windows.

Truthfully, he was a bit scared of bright mornings in Lower Manhattan. He was still scarred by that one Tuesday. It had been so beautiful that day; he had started his morning bike at his dorm in Harlem and ended up riding all the way to Battery Park, well past his usual stop in SoHo.

He wished he hadn’t. He watched both planes crash into the towers.

A shiver crept up his spine. He shoved the memory out-of-mind; he didn’t have time to dwell on it anymore.

Ben fumbled blindly for the phone he knew rested somewhere on his nightstand. Face recognition kicked in a moment after he raised it to his view; then the tell-tale notification avalanche of a late-night work fuck-up populated his screen.

Hux was furious about something. Phasma was furious at Hux. Mitaka was incompetent as always.

Wonderful.

And then—something else. He’d missed a message from the girl, Rey.

He sat up.

Ben re-read the message several times over, eyes pausing on the smiley face each time.

He punched out a quick reply—he had to backspace several times to delete letters his too-large fingers clicked—before heading for a shower.

When he emerged, the first thing he did was check his phone.

He checked it again while his coffee brewed. And in his town car. And before his lunch meeting.

> _> SA: ReyRomano_
> 
> _> No new messages._

Maybe she wasn’t interested after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey woke with a start.

Finn was pounding on her door.

“Rey? Rey, did you even go to class this morning?”

_What?_

She shot up in her less-than-twin bed, which creaked its disapproval. “What time is it?”

“Rey, it’s 11:36.”

“ _Shit_ ,” she hissed. Rey leaped across her closet-room in one stride, unlocking the door. “Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod I missed my senior design class. _Fuck_ —”

She ignored whatever Finn was saying—or maybe she didn’t hear it at all—and flew around the room, gathering clothes off the floor, retrieving her school books from the moving boxes she used as end tables. She was stripped and dressed again in under a minute, grabbing her bag, grabbing—

“Rey. Breathe.”

Finn grasped her shoulders, holding her steady.

“Is that all you missed?”

She paused, then nodded. Small tears of panic threatened to form in her eyes. She was here on scholarship; she _had_ to go to class. She _had_ to take the lead on team projects. She _had_ to—

“Okay, breathe. You’re going to be fine. Everyone sleeps through a class at some point.”

“But—”

“Just text your teammates,” Finn cut over her, voice of reason as ever, “Offer to do some extra work. Rey, breathe. You’re fine.” She took a long drag of a breath; then she nodded. Finn pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry, I should’ve woken you. Did your phone not go off?”

It hadn’t.

Rey had bought a $10-a-month call-and-text-only plan and a $9.99 brick phone from Walmart when she started college. It held only three apps—she refused to buy the expensive memory card—and it barely even managed that. Once, drunkenly, she bet that she could chuck it out the dorm room window and it’d be fine.

She won that bet.

Now the damn thing refused to even sound alarms.

“It didn’t. I really need a new one. I’ll—I’ll figure it out soon.”

She’d have just enough time to make it to work if she ran like hell for the bus.

 

* * *

 

 

Hux stood at the end of the polished-mahogany conference table, presenting the latest acquisition numbers in a Dior Homme tweed suit that didn’t even have the decency to look good. Ben scowled.

“As you can see, we’re up 18% year-over-year. This segment represented 9% of our total revenues. This gives us key insight into—”

Ben rolled his eyes; he knew well enough that 9% was a drop in the bucket and Hux was full of shit. He’d also already seen the numbers. The Finance VP’s nasal tone faded away slowly as Ben’s eyes stared, unfocused, out the window.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up with a new notification.

> _> SA: 1 new notification_

A spine that was hunched over just a moment ago straightened up. Ben reached out—as casually as he could manage, casting a hesitant glance around the room—and thumbed at the banner text.

> _> ReyRomano: sorry, alarm didn’t go off this am :) ya, im at NYU :) did you go here too?_

He sucked in a breath; she hadn’t been ignoring him.

The statuesque blonde across the table—who somehow managed to tower over everyone, even in her seat—quirked an eyebrow.

“Erm, email,” he mumbled quietly. Hux droned on, probably too self-important to notice the minor disruption.

> _> KyloRen: I went to Columbia for undergrad._
> 
>  
> 
> _> ReyRomano: ohhhhh I see. Good school haha :) did you stay for grad studies?_
> 
>  
> 
> _> KyloRen: No, I went to Sloan._

Rey was seven miles south when her phone buzzed again.

She frowned and turned to the student assistant workstation at her work desk, typing the name into the Google search bar.

> > _ **Google SmartSelect recommends the following webpage: [Wikipedia]** The MIT Sloan School of Management (also known as MIT Sloan or Sloan) is the business school of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, in Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States. MIT Sloan offers bachelor's, master's, and doctoral degree programs, as well as executive education. Its MBA program is among the most selective in the world, and it is ranked #1 in more disciplines than any other business school._

_Damn._ What she would give to go to a school like that…

> _> cool :) did you like it?_

She gave it a few proof-reads.

 _Send_.

Dr. Amilyn Holdo flung open the door to the department as if on cue. The professor paused in front of the reception desk. “Rey! Happy student employee appreciation week! Donut?” the sparky, purple-haired computer science professor asked, holding out a tray of multi-colored, many-flavored treats. Rey had always respected Dr. Holdo’s sense of self; sure, people _talked_ about the free-spirited professor, but no one could deny she was one of the best. Last year she’d brought in more grant funding than anyone else at Tandon.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

At the same time Rey was taking her first bite, Ben was staring at his phone.

_Cool._

Anytime alma maters were brought up in the workplace, the discussion devolved into a pissing contest. Names like _Wharton_ and _Haas_ were thrown around. Judgements were made. On a few occasions, he’d watched colleagues dig for SAT scores so they could determine who had been the best high-schooler, too.

This girl— _Rey_ —didn’t point out that Oxford and Cambridge were better. She didn’t demand numbers on paper. She just thought it was _cool_.

He suppressed a smile; it was an unlikely fixture on him to begin with, let alone on a Monday, let alone on a Monday in a c-meeting.

Phasma must’ve seen his lips quirk; she’d doubled down on her look of suspicion.

He wanted to type something more personal. _What are you doing?_ Or _How is your day?_

> _> KyloRen: I prefer New York._

A pang of regret nestled in his stomach as he set his phone down and locked it.

Hux’s voice flooded back into his ears.

“—so our targets are 23% and 34% respectively, with a cash flow goal of—”

His phone had already lit up again.

> _> SA: 1 new notification._

He glanced at Phasma. Phasma glanced at the phone. He decided, despite the itch to read the message, to wait.

“—venture capital strategy, with partners confirming double-digit growth in technology market sectors, especially networking and compute offloads.”

Ben yawned.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey kept finding herself stealing glances at the clock.

Two hours had passed, then three, then four. When the end of her shift drew near, she frowned. She hadn’t thought the photo reply she’d sent was too bad—but then, you could never be everyone’s cup of tea.

_Oh well._

There were plenty of fish in the sea— _right_?

Rey gathered up her study materials and shoved them into her bag. It frayed at the ends of each strap, which threatened to give way. She hoped it would at least last her until the end of the semester.

When she bent down to close out the tabs on the department computer, a search result caught her eye.

> _> MIT Sloan: Tuition & Fees._

She blinked, hesitated for a moment, and—against her better judgement, still a little sore from being ignored, gave in to curiosity.

> _Tuition: $74,200_
> 
> _Total Fees: $2,512_
> 
> _Books and Supplies: $2,550_
> 
> _Computer (1st year only): $2,000_
> 
> _Food: $5,300_
> 
> _Personal (includes medical insurance): $6,508_
> 
> _Housing: $15,750_
> 
> _Transportation: $2,750_
> 
> _TOTAL /YR: ~$111,570_

Rey whistled when she reached the bottom line, a little stab of sadness—or maybe jealousy—burrowing in her belly.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that the nameless stranger had ghosted her.

She wasn’t sure they would’ve had anything in common, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Finn was snuggling his boyfriend on the couch when Rey stepped into the apartment.

“Hey, Peanut!”

“Oh hey, Rey,” Poe Dameron echoed, waving to her. Poe was several years older than Finn; he had served in the Air Force, and now worked as a commercial pilot for Delta. His job meant he was often working odd hours, out of state, or otherwise catching up on sleep—but it also meant Finn got to go on several truly sweet vacations. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been so averse to the sugar daddy idea…

“Hey, you guys.”

Finn’s eyebrows furrowed, pulling away from an objecting Poe for a moment. “You okay, Peanut? You look a little down.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. Well, it was only somewhat a lie—she _was_ fine, she was just a little bit hurt. She knew she shouldn’t be; if this was anything like traditional online dating, she was in for a lot of ghosting. A rejection—especially a relatively painless one—shouldn’t be getting to her. But it was.

“You don’t look fine.”

She sighed. “Well, a guy messaged me last night on… _the site_.”

“Poe knows,” Finn clarified.

“Oh.” Rey blushed. “Well, okay, so a guy messaged me on SA last night. I mean, we’ve barely talked, but he had a background check verified sticker and everything—I guess I just got a little excited? The few messages he did send me were all about his education: Columbia and MIT, apparently. I just, like… if I’m gonna do this, I kind of want a connection beyond just the money and sex, you know? Like a mentor or something. So I guess I just got excited at all the _possibility_. It was stupid.”

Finn stared, a little open-mouthed. “Wait, so what’s the problem?”

“Well, I sent him a photo—” Finn wiggled his eyebrows, “— _no, not that kind of photo_. Just one that I thought was cute. He hasn’t replied since.”

Her best friend frowned. “Well, he’s an idiot, then. With bad taste. That’s not your fault.”

Rey nodded. She did feel a little better, hearing someone else say it out loud. It was like she had permission to fail.

“I know, I just—man, you really do have to wade through a lot of crap. You know I’ve gotten 41 messages today? And they’re all— _all_ —requests for nudes, or written poorly, or terribly pushy. And I haven’t seen anyone else with a background check badge, which is, _um_ , a little concerning.”

Poe reached out and patted her arm. “We’ll help you stay safe, Rey. It’ll work out. I’m sure you’ll find someone. You’re beautiful and smart, what else could those straight dudes want?”

Finn nodded enthusiastically, giving his boyfriend a sickeningly cute smile.

“Welp, guess you have to join us for pizza then!” Poe offered. “We were just about to call it in and watch _Black Panther_ again. Just hit Netflix!”

Rey grinned. “Sounds good.”

She set her bookbag down and curled up in their frayed armchair.

_I’m so lucky to have these friends._

 

* * *

 

 

Ben collapsed into the smooth leather seats of his towncar.

“Home, please, Adam,” he said to his driver, who nodded promptly.

 _God, what an exhausting day._ The quarter three results meeting had extended well into the afternoon. Mitaka had to move every meeting out of the way to accommodate—meaning he now had a double schedule tomorrow, too. After that had finished, Hux haggled over his performance evaluation, Phasma wanted notes for the Q3 earnings call, and—

_Rey._

He’d forgotten all about Rey.

“Fucker,” he hissed under his breath, fighting with the pocket of his dress pants to retrieve his phone.

He must have swiped away the SA notification panel during one of the billion times someone made him go digging for a work email.

> _> Apps_
> 
> _> SeekingArrangement_
> 
> _> Messages: ReyRomano: 1 unread_

He tapped the thread, which illuminated the backseat of the car much as the streetlights outside seemed to make the city glimmer.

A beautiful, beaming girl was staring back at him. Her bright smile and crinkling, happy eyes were flanked by something she held up in her hand—a donut. A small bite was taken out; he could see jelly in the center.

> _> ReyRomano: i just discovered the best thing at work :) :) :) its student employee appreciation week apparently. donuts for everybody!!!_

_Shit._

_Rey,_ he began typing, _I am so very sorry for my late reply…_


	3. Angles

Rey stirred in her sleep. Somewhere in her periphery, her phone had managed to do its job: it sounded a loud, dull alarm.

Rey rolled onto her belly, pulling the pillow over her head. Neither it nor her bed was particularly nice; Finn had lent her the cot, and she’d bought a mattress pad topper along with two pillows. The once-downy bunches of fluff had long since deflated, but bed felt warm and safe nonetheless. It was _her_ space.

“N-urh,” she half-grumbled, reaching out for her phone, feeling around on the floor with her fingertips. She soon realized that she’d left it at the other end of the room to charge in the sole outlet.

“Fu- ugh, _shit_.”

Rey would have stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling if it was any other day—but it was _today_ , and Finn would be sleeping in.

She tossed aside the thin comforter with a huff and leapt across the room to silence her phone. When she returned to bed with it, perhaps tempted to set a later alarm, her unread texts popped up on the screen.

> _> NYU: [SafeSystem] Policy activity within Washington Square park. Please be advised and stay clear of the area._
> 
> _> NYU: [SafeSystem] Police activity has concluded. SafeSystem warning lifted._
> 
> _> SA: KyloRen: 2 unread messages_

Rey sucked in a breath of air. It was probably from the angle in which she was burying her face in her pillow, but she _choked_.

She stared at the notice for several moments, pointer finger hovering just above the letters. Only two days had passed on the app, and already it felt like _such_ an emotional rollercoaster. She almost wondered if she would’ve preferred the stranger not reply at all. Maybe rejection was easier; she didn’t consider herself socially graceful. Maybe she’d been right from the jump—maybe she just wasn’t a sugar baby kind of girl.

She clicked on the text.

> _> KyloRen: Rey, I am so very sorry for my late reply. A work meeting ran over time and I’m afraid it distracted me. You, of course, look lovely. I am glad you had a fun day._

An hour and twenty-four minutes later, he’d sent another text:

> _> KyloRen: Rey, would you be open to meeting me for coffee? This week? It would have to be early morning, but I can make it happen. I find it’s best to meet in person and confirm we are who we say we are, chat, et cetera, before an emotional investment is made._

_Before an emotional investment is made._

She read the line over and over as something hot and prickly bubbled up in her chest.

Rey let her phone slip out of her fingers and onto a breast that heaved a little.

Yes, it would have been easier if he hadn’t replied at all.

 

* * *

 

 

“Thanks for letting me come over,” Rey muttered, stepping through the threshold of penthouse 6B.

“Of course,” Ana replied, the perfect hostess, shutting a perfectly-spackled door behind them both.

The latter girl lived on the top floor of a nice—not truly wealthy, but distinctly _nice_ —suite of condominiums. She had a mild view of Brooklyn Heights from a small balcony on one side of the living room (who knew some New York apartments were big enough for _living rooms_?). If she was aware of being outclassed by any and every Manhattan neighborhood, she didn’t show it. She acted like it was fucking _Tribeca_ up in here.

“Champagne?” she asked, opening a white-gossamer-coated kitchen cabinet. “Mother just bought me new China. And this one—” she pointed to a not-yet-unwrapped set of glassware, “—is _crystal_.”

“Erm, just Barefoot, thanks.”

Her friend made a noise. “Uf, fine, but we _have_ to do the cute glasses, then.”

Truthfully, Ana was a strange friend to have. She seemed to walk through life blissfully unaware of anyone else; at the same time, though, she possessed a certain striking sense of finesse and apparent social instinct. Maybe her self-awareness came and went; Rey couldn’t tell. There was something vaguely intoxicating about Ana—something compelling, even underneath all the pure _snobitude_.

Ana was a top business student; an Honors student. She ran her own small company—sure, with financial help from her well-to-do parents and even-more-well-to-do sugar daddy, but she ran it.

Her _tour de force_ was indisputable.

Rey respected it. If nothing else, Ana was at least a wildly entertaining study in multi-dimensionality. Or, like, modern womanhood.

 _Something like that_.

After fifty-two selfies had been taken—forty-eight were discarded—an appropriate Boomerang was selected for Instagram Stories. Ana spent another twenty minutes searching for the perfect Post Malone lyric— ‘ _top floor lifestyle_ ’—to overlay, and _finally_ the two finally sat down to talk.

“So,” Ana started, sitting the $15 champagne she’d managed to disguise into social media gold, “let me see this guy.”

“Well, you see,” Rey shifted awkwardly in a too-expensive chair, “he doesn’t actually have a photo.”

Ana _gaped_.

“Rey Elizabeth—”

“— _that’s not my middle name_ —”

“—you can’t talk to guys without photos.”

The blonde gestured with one hand. _D’uh_.

“No, but, look—” Rey held her phone across the table, “—at these.”

Ana’s bedazzled, dagger-point nails closed around Rey’s brick phone a la Walmart.

“Oh,” she murmured a moment later, “well _that’s_ different.”

 “So ‘ _Diamond Daddy’_ does mean something?”

“Ts-yeah it means something. And the ‘Identity Verified’? That means your man’s been to a NYC party and met an SA staffer in person. That’s how they do those. So, you’re fine,” she waved the same hand, picking up a Ferrero Roche with the other, “he’s legit.”

“I mean,” she amended a second later with a pointed look, “he _could_ be a nut. But at least he’s a rich nut.”

Rey held back her frustration. Mostly.

“Helpful.”

 “What do you want me to say? I mean, I gotta see these receipts before I can help you.”

Rey bit down on her inner cheek. “Ana, I really have no idea what I’m doing…”

Her lackluster flirting was embarrassing, but she passed her phone anyway.

“Hm,” was all Ana said—several times over—as she scrolled through the chat log with _KyloRen_.

“Right, well, we know he’s rich. We know he hasn’t, like, got a felony. We know he’s at least semi-serious ‘cause he’s gone to SA parties. I think you should meet him, Rey.”

“We just started talking!”

Ana raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “Guys don’t wanna invest in somebody—time or _otherwise_ —before they meet you. I mean, so many girls don’t end up looking like their photos, you know? In fairness, neither do the guys, but—”

Rey’s head was swimming too much to listen to the laundry list of why men somehow got away with misrepresenting themselves online. Was she really going to show up and meet— _in real life!_ —this perfect stranger of a man?

“—hey,” Ana was snapping in front of her face, “Earth to Rey. Yeah, girl, you gotta go on this date. It’ll be low-key, don’t stress too much about it. I went on _lots_ of meet and greets before I found Poldin.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder casually.

“I—” Rey started, half unsure of what to say, “—what do I even do?”

“Well, first you’re going to reply to this message.”

Manicured nails clacked against the tempered glass screen.

“Don’t—”

“Relax,” the phone was flipped around to show the text.

> _> ReyRomano is typing…  
>  >i’d love to. i’m free any morning this week. but can i have a pic of you first :)_

“Guys can get away without face pics on their profiles—” Ana pressed send, “—but you always need to know what they look like before showing up to a meet and greet.”

Rey blinked, then nodded.

“So,” her friend continued, launching into a masterclass of sugaring, “what’s your requested allowance?”

“My…?”

“Requested allowance. You know, _the money part_. Guys are usually most comfortable with a pay-per-meet model; you get an allowance every time you go on a date with them. Now, I recommend you go high—”

“I just started this, though. I mean, what if he negotiates—”

“ _Rey_.” Ana paused, shooting her a wry glance. “You’re not a damn flea market. There is no _haggling_. He gives you the allowance you want, or you find someone who will. Simple.”

Ana sat back and crossed her legs primly.

Rey wasn’t nearly convinced of this alleged simplicity.

“So, you’re going to insist on _at least_ 500 PPM. There’s no way it should be lower, not in NYC. Hopefully, though, this never comes up; a sugar daddy— _SD_ —worth his salt will broach this subject first. He’ll lay out what he’s willing to offer in an arrangement, and then _you_ negotiate it if it isn’t up to spec. Politely, though—gotta always be on that sweet game. Remember, though: he _doesn’t get to negotiate with you_.”

Rey nodded blankly.

“There’s another cardinal rule: you _always_ get your allowance up front, Rey. There is no ‘I forgot’. There is no ‘I’ll go to an ATM or swing by the bank afterwards’. No. He gives that shit up front or you leave.”

“Seems a little harsh.”

“Only if you want to get pumped and dumped.”

“Jeez—”

“Seriously. Rey, some guys are out there to take advantage. You gotta get your own first. It’s an _arrangement_. Don’t be shy about asking for your half.”

The large phone she’d been clutching dinged and vibrated just then.

“Ah,” her friend teased, holding the phone up away from Rey’s reach, “buddy boy replied.”

Rey dove across the table; Ana kept her at arm’s length.

“Of course, Rey,” she read from the screen in a sing-song voice.

Then, another ding. Another vibration.

Ana’s lips parted. She stared, slightly open-mouthed, at the phone.

“Oh, god,” Rey breathed, “he sent his dick. He sent his dick, didn’t he—”

“No, but honestly I kinda wish he had. Rey—”

Ana turned the phone so she could see; her eyes flitted from looking into green, familiar ones to staring into deep, warm, brown ones.

The photo was taken with a kind of endearing awkwardness. She could see his arm outstretched, held somewhere slightly below him instead of above. His face—a long, lean, narrow one—was flanked by soft-looking waves of dark brown hair that fell slightly past his chin. Small birthmarks and freckles managed only to add to a brand of atypical beauty. Golden flecks ringed his irises—she never knew her phone could render in such high resolution—and plump, pink lips curved upwards in what could only be described as the hint of a smile.

He wore a white dress shirt, the top button undone now, his tie a little loose around his neck.

“Me too,” Rey heard herself saying. Her voice sounded only a sliver of her usual volume.

Then she paused.

He was _too_ attractive.

“I don’t buy it.”

The other girl raised an eyebrow. “Hmm,” she hummed, typing into the text box. Rey rounded the table in a flash, peering down at the text.

> _> ReyRomano is typing…_
> 
> _> can you hold up three fingers so i know you don’t just have some handsome guy’s photos ;)_

“Ohmygod—” Rey reached for the phone, “Ana, no—”

“ _Yes_ , Rey, _this is how you flirt!_ ”

> _> Message sent._

She covered her reddening face with her hands. “God.”

Ana kicked back and took a self-assured sip. She only chuckled.

“He’ll love that shit.”

“Ana—”

_Ding._

Their gazes both whipped towards the thread of messages.

“Oh my _god_ , Rey, it’s the same guy,” she crooned through a wide grin.

Rey blinked. Then she swallowed; _so it was_. The very same man—from a slightly different angle now, as he appeared to have moved into another room—peered up from the screen. He held three fingers of his left hand up as requested. Rey thought it looked oddly like one of those hand signs students in Greek life were constantly doing.

“You better tell me all about it when he dicks you down—”

“ _Ana_ —”

“His hands are _massive_ —”

“ _Jesus Christ_.”

Rey pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Right then, so you’re _definitely_ meeting him.”

“I have no say?”

“ _None._ ”

> _> ReyRomano is typing…._
> 
> _> coffee shop suggestions? :)_

 

* * *

 

 

Much later, when his boyish grin had long since faded, Ben poured out a scotch on the rocks. It had become somewhat of a tradition somewhere over the last seventeen years; he couldn’t quite remember when he’d started, nor did he care to. He knew, too, that it wasn’t proper—that you were supposed to add a splash of water to open the malt or forego inclusions altogether.

He didn’t care.

The liquid chilled against his lips. The skyline of lower Manhattan glittered through his windows, suggestive of the joy of club-goers, of tourists on the streets below him. He sipped slowly. He should feel— _wanted_ to feel, maybe—as if he commanded the city. There he was, after all: the all-glass outer walls of his apartment yielded every view for miles.

Amazing, wasn’t it, how such a large city could make you feel so alone.

He watched the seconds tick down on his black-and-blue-faced Breitling. It would be impossible to say whether he was aware of the way his throat bobbed or how his nostrils flared.

One puffy lower lip curved into a frown. For a moment, it quivered.

“Well,” he stated, impassively, eyes focused on the strips of light emanating from the square antiprism of One World Trade.

The bedside clock beeped softly behind him.

_09.11.2018_

Two blue beams of light rose to join the city skyline, ghosts of buildings that no longer stood. Red, white, and blue sheathed the spire of the building that _was_ there, the rest of the glass untouched in honor of everything—every _one_ —that was missing.

“Here I am.” There was no mistaking the hint of anger in his voice—nor the hollow disappointment. “I did everything you thought I never could.”

He blinked a few times. If there had been emotion, he swallowed it with the next sip of amber liquid. The man was vaguely aware of how his breath fogged the windows and evaporated. He— _he_ —was corporeal.

Not a ghost. Not a spirit. _Real_.

“Dad,” he managed, gaze drifting to his feet. He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, one hand seeking shelter in his pocket. “There’s a girl, I think,” he murmured, eyes slowly returning to gaze at the skyline. They rested, after a weary moment, on the faint outline of the South Tower reflecting pool.

“ _I hope_.”


	4. Insufficient

Rey balanced all five bags on one arm while the other opened the door to her apartment. She clamored inside, bags scraping against the thin walls of the entryway, and stumbled into the kitchenette. She knew one of the reusable bags had been fraying at the bottom; when it caught on the door hinge, spilling heads of bok choy across the floor, she was just grateful it hadn’t happened downtown.

Rey set the rest of the bags down quickly, wringing her thin arms.

“Sheesh,” she muttered, trying to shake the cramps out of her limbs. She was one of those 1-trip-only folks, _especially_ in New York City. There were no leaving bags downstairs and coming back for them in another trip—at least, not if you wanted the food inside. Leaving groceries around in an NYU student dorm was the fastest way to get robbed. She couldn’t blame them, not really; Rey understood what it was like to be a starving student.

With her hands free again, Rey found one of them working her phone out of her bra. She’d shoved it there for the long walk home; you could never be too cautious in protecting yourself against pick-pockets.

One thin, pale finger hovered over the SA app.

She’d managed to convince Ana that it was ‘ _vital for the integrity of the relationship’_ that she—Rey—be the one to respond to his messages. She tapped the app once and, for what felt like the thousandth time that day, found herself staring at the text exchange.

> _> KyloRen: What borough do you live in?_

Then, five minutes later,

> _> KyloRen: I suppose it is politer to offer that I am based in Manhattan._

Another set of five minute gaps:

> _> KyloRen: Tribeca is home; Midtown for work._
> 
> _> KyloRen: Rey?_

She’d punched out a response almost instantly when she read it; it had felt awfully rude to keep waiting, especially when she _knew_ that no amount of waiting would give her Ana’s social instincts.

> _> ReyRomano: hi, im sorry :) got distracted leaving a friends place. my dorm is sorta near Brooklyn heights_

From there, the conversation had flowed more easily. Rey scanned the messages for a thousandth-and-one time:

> _> KyloRen: Ah._
> 
> _> KyloRen: Rey, I’m so sorry to ask, but is it possible for you to make it to Midtown on Friday morning? I have early meetings all this week and next, and I would hate to cut our conversation short to travel back to Manhattan from Brooklyn._
> 
> _> KyloRen: I am, of course, happy to send my driver for you._

Rey blinked at the message, just as she’d done when she first received it. _Driver?_

She’d typed back a hasty response; Ana had warned her never to get into any car on meet and greet or first date—

> _> ReyRomano: no need but thank you tho :) ya I can get to midtown. time?_
> 
> _> KyloRen: It would have to be early. I really am sorry for the inconvenience. Can you do 7 am? There’s a Starbucks at 575 5th._
> 
> _> ReyRomano: sure!_

Rey groaned again at the thought of waking up for a seven-in-the-morning meeting. _So early_. She rarely got up earlier than nine, but she supposed she’d have to make it happen.

_Do it for the mysterious handsome man._

> _> KyloRen: I am, of course, happy to reimburse your travel here. And I can get you a cab home._

Rey had blinked when the message came through. The first mention of anything financial made her mouth run dry; a lump formed in her throat.

She replied with as much grace as she could manage.

> _> ReyRomano: thats really kind of you :)_
> 
> _> KyloRen: The least I can do._
> 
> _> ReyRomano: well, thank you :)_

Rey was a little ashamed of how relieved she’d felt when the text came through. She’d immediately agreed to meet in Midtown—not even reluctantly, either—but that didn’t stop her from panicking over the three subway transfers she’d need to take, how long it would take her to get to and from, and whether it would mean she would be late for class.

The offer of reimbursement helped. So would a cab. A lot.

She felt a little guilty that accepting money felt so easy. She’d expected a bit more moral panic, a bit more—

“Rey?”

She jumped, fumbling the edges of her phone.

“Oh, Finn.” She pressed the Sleep button on the side quickly. “Hey.”

“Hey, Peanut,” he eyed the phone suspiciously. “Up to something?”

Rey blushed. “Ah, no, it’s nothing.”

“Mhm hm. Sure.”

Her friend threw his arms around her. He smelled a faintly of tamarind and coconut, mixed with something else—hints of sandalwood.

“You been around Poe recently?”

This time, it was _his_ turn to blush.

“Erm, yeah, we went to the movies. You cooking tonight?”

“Yeah!” Rey beamed. “You’ll never believe it; I went to little Italy to walk around the Feast of San Gennaro celebrations and Nabil— _you know Nabil, from Cirrano’s?_ —he remembered me from when I was a dishwasher. Gave me this baggie of leftover ingredients and some salmon cuts they didn’t want for the restaurant!”

“Oh shit,” Finn murmured, peering into the baggies, “That’s really nice of ‘em, yeah. Well, aren’t we lucky?”

“Right?” Rey gestured to the rest of the bags, “And I stopped at Asian Food Mart on the way home. They had a sale on flat rice noodles and chili oil, so I also grabbed some carrots. Thought I’d make like a basic pad thai meal prep for the week since Poe’s left all those airline peanuts.”

“Oh, right on, yeah. You need any help?”

“The more the merrier,” Rey smiled. “Can you grab my laptop, though? Wanted to catch up with some podcasts if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Rey, what the fuck is a Julianne?”

“No—god, Finn, no— _julienne_.”

Finn stared at her, open-mouthed.

“Okay, yeah, Julianne. What is it?” Rey giggled and rolled her eyes, “Because last I checked, that was a woman’s name—”

“Finn, _Finn_. Stop.” Rey shook her head. “It’s just like, a thin cut. Here—”

She pried, gently, the chef’s knife out of her friend’s hand. “Here,” she said, demonstrating on a carrot, “like this. It means to cut them like this.”

“You could have just said ‘Finn, can you cut the carrots into strips’—”

“But that’s a _julienne_ —”

“Strippy carrots,” Finn said not-so-under his breath. “They’re strippy carrots.”

“Good god, it’s like you’re _offended_ by knowledge—”

The pair teased each other all through the process. Rey set Finn to work prepping the ingredients: feta, dill, parsley, and lemon zest from Nabil’s baggie were mixed together as a salmon-topper. Rey prepped the baking sheet, and soon the fish was cooking away in their rinky-dink oven—set ten degrees below what it should, as they both knew an ungodly fire alarm awaited them if they tried to cook over four-hundred. Rey set the timer for eleven minutes; eleven minutes at three-ninety, turn the stove off, set an alarm for four more minutes. _That should be just as good as fourteen minutes at four-hundred._ At least, she hoped it would be.

She and Finn made do with what they had; they knew their kitchenette wasn’t the best—it wasn’t even mediocre—but they tried to make decent dinners nonetheless.

Soon she had her friend chopping cucumbers for a salad, mixing a poor man’s vinaigrette, and pressing garlic.

“We really need a press for this,” Finn muttered, pressing down harder on a bit of garlic that refused to flatten. “I can literally smell garlic on my fingertips for days after this.”

“You’re welcome to go buy one—”

“Nah, nah,” he interjected with a grin, “we’ll have to make due, eh?”

“Here,” Rey gestured him over to one of the $10 teflon pans they’d found on Amazon, “here, look. This is a _mirepoix_. Well, kinda. We don’t have celery. But if it had celery, it’d be a mirepoix.”

“A who-sy whats-it?”

“A mirepoix! It’s a base for a ton of meals: just carrots, onions, and celery in oil. It really transcends cultures, Finn, you should know this—”

“Yeah—”

“ _Especially_ as an international studies major—”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to memorize all these dishes now?”

“Hey! Food brings people together.”

Finn rubbed his stomach. “Well I feel like being brought together with food right now, so—”

Rey found herself grinning. “Carrots are almost done. Just throwing in the peanuts now—” she’d asked Finn to chop them finely: she _hated_ huge chunks of peanuts in her pad thai—

“and the rice noodles are done—”

She reached across the stovetop to turn off the burner when something resting on the adjacent coffee-maker brushed against her elbow—and promptly fell into the boiling pot of water with a _plop_ and spray of very hot water.

“Ohmygod—” Rey watched her hand jut out and shove itself into a pot holder. “Finn!” she screeched. “Myphonemyphone _myphone_ —”

She reached into the pot, not nearly protected enough, and grabbed the offending item. Streams of water poured from the ports of her very, very waterlogged phone.

“Rey—shit—” Her friend leapt across the room with much-longer legs, thrusting a bag of rice towards her. “Here, here, drop it in here.”

“I thought that was a myth!” she cried.

“I—” he stared, open-mouthed, then rattled the bag. “ _Rey—who cares_! Just do it!”

Rey paced around the tiny room after depositing her phone. Why did these things just have to happen to her? She groaned, remembering just last summer when, after just buying her piece-of-shit phone, she dropped it, shattering the screen. She paid triple the price of the phone—she panicked when the repair guy told her the price and agreed to it out of shame—and then dropped it again two days later.

She bought a new phone—the same model—a few days after that.

“Why do I _suck_?”

“Peanut,” Finn coaxed, pulling his friend into another hug. “It could happen to anyone, really.”

“Yeah,” Rey said into his shirt, half-glad her pathetic complaining was muffled, “But why _me_? I’m so clumsy and I _need_ that phone—”

“I mean, there’s a bright side: that phone barely did anything anyway.”

She pulled away in fake indignation and slapped his arm. “Rude!”

“But true.” He paused for a moment, patting her on one shoulder. “Look, Rey, I’ll just buy you another if it doesn’t power on.”

“I won’t let you—”

“It’s _$10_.”

Rey opened her mouth to say something. Then she closed it. Reality nested poignantly in her belly. $10 for another phone was too much for her. _$10_.

 _How embarrassing_.

Rey only nodded.

“Come on,” Finn said, stirring the pans they had going on the stovetop. “Your _mirepoix_ almost burned.”

At least that got her to smile.

“Well, you’re learning,” she sniffed. “I’m so proud.”

They exchanged grins.

“Gatorade?” she offered, cutting one loose from their bargain-buy six-pack in the pantry.

“Oh shit, you really must be upset—”

“Hey, they’re a guilty pleasure. And no, really, I’m—” she squeaked loudly and jumped back, holding the bottle well in front of her. A thin jet of Gatorade streamed onto her clothes.

“ _Jesus, Rey_ , this is why you use scissors—” Finn held up his hands in fake exasperation. “I mean, you really have no choice but to shotgun it now.”

She stared at him for a moment, half-distressed, before a giggle bubbled up in her chest. Her brows knit together.

“I’m really such a mess—”

She pressed her lips to the cut in the plastic; Finn unscrewed the top and grinned broadly.

“Aren’t we all.”

 

* * *

 

 

“—honestly, if you shop at Saks Fifth you’re _disgusting_. Everyone knows true society only shops direct.”

Hux’s nasal tone hit him before the _very_ potent scent of Voyage D’Hermès did.

Ben Solo buttoned his jacket—Purple Label, _not_ bought second-hand—and scowled.

“—sales, too. You know Lauren offers 10% off if you sign up for their mailing list? I mean, I did, but I’d have been damned if I used that code. I bought full-price, of course,” the ginger-haired man finished bragging to the tall effervescent blonde.

They parted ways at the door, splitting to take their respective seats at the board table.

“Solo.”

“Hux.”

“ _Ben_.”

He scowled again.

“Phasma.”

The blonde COO took her seat across from him, the glass _clink_ of a Voss bottle on a crystalline cup ringing through the otherwise silent room.

Hux, meanwhile, opened his mouth—no doubt to dispense more snide wisdom—but was, thankfully, interrupted by a sudden crackle.

The cold face of Mr. Snoke, the CEO of First Order Associates, LP, stared back at them from the Microsoft Surface Hub at the helm of the room.

“This meeting is being recorded,” an even colder voice wasted no time in stating. “Is that understood by everyone?”

“Yes,” the three—the triumvirate at the operational helm of the empire of _First Order_ —murmured in a performance of faux unison.

Ben shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wholly unaware that, just seven miles away, Rey sat on the threadbare couch within her stovetop-heated apartment. He had no idea that, though mildly traumatized by the phone incident, Rey shoveled noodles into her mouth happily. He had no idea that she was laughing and joking with her best friend, who was about to help her with her humanities homework.

He had no idea at all. He only knew that he was cold, tired, and about to be reamed out twelve different ways.

“Our third quarter results are wholly insufficient,” a deep, reverberating voice interrupted. It bothered Ben, how Snoke’s voice was so impersonal yet so penetrating, cutting deep into his bones. He shivered.

A ghost of a smirk formed on Hux’s lips. _Ass_.

“Ben Solo,” the cool voice continued, somehow managing to emphasize each letter, dragging out the pronunciation of his name in a way that made him wished he could wriggle free of it. “Heir apparent to CFO Vader. When I promoted you, I saw raw, untamed power. It appears… I was mistaken.”

Yes, Hux was _definitely_ smirking now.

Ben’s fists clenched at his sides.

“Mr. Snoke, our third quarter results actually show strong growth in the—”

“Silence.”

The younger man’s lips quivered for a moment; his hand dug into the leather of his too-expensive seat in an effort to remain quiet. _Obey_.

“They are,” the voice at the other end of the telecon murmured huskily, “ _disappointing_.”

Heavy silence fell in the room. Ben’s lips had pressed into a thin line now, his jaw working to keep his mouth shut. Hux looked too amused for his own good—as VP of Finance, his ass was on the line, too.

Phasma was leaned back in her chair, inspecting her nails, looking bored as ever.

 _If only_.

“You _will_ revise your Q3 call strategy. I expect—expect of _you_ —that our stock should not fall.”

“With all due respect,” Ben cut across his boss, too angry to remain silent now, “our numbers are _fine_. There is no reason for the stock price to fall post-earnings-call—”

The old, wrinkled man huffed, the noise causing static feedback to filter through the telecon speakers. “You can’t even hold your tongue now. What will happen when faced with investors? With analysts? No; you’re just a _child in a suit_.”

Ben bit the inside of his cheek so hard he thought he tasted blood.

“Revising our call strategy will take _days_ —”

“Then I suggest you work quickly.” A pregnant pause hung in the room. “You will—all of you—remain in the office until finished. Whether you work all through the night today and all through the night tomorrow, you will get it done.”

Ben’s nostrils flared. So, too, did Phasma’s, now that her evening plans were ruined.

 _Good_.

Hux seemed slower on the uptake. Ben made a note to assign him to rallying the analysts—many of them still knew Hux from his Harvard days. He had been, of course, a member of the exclusive Porcellian, a finals club for the most stick-up-the-ass rich boys.

He frowned, but he couldn’t deny the usefulness of those connections.

 _Go Crimson_ , Ben thought bitterly.

The meeting dragged on like this, wreaking havoc on the remnants of any personal life the three hoped to lead.

When the Surface Hub went dark, its screen newly shiny and reflective, Ben hurled his bottle of Voss at it. The substrate cracked and fell to the hardwood, polyurethane-glossed floor with the now-fragmented bottle.

The glimmering streetlights of New York City beyond had never felt so empty.

“Have Mitaka buy a new one.”


	5. Meeting, Pt 1

Rey jiggled her right leg up and down.

She would notice every few minutes and still, sometimes placing a small hand on her knee as if to say _stop_ before resuming only a moment later.

Her brick phone had— _somehow_ —survived its foray into boiling water. Well, _sort of_. It now displayed a constant warning message— ‘ _Moisture detected in the USB charging port_ ’—and was only responsive half the time.

It wasn’t much of a departure from how it usually functioned.

She stole a few glances at its clock: _6:45_. _6:48_. _6:53_.  

Rey suffered from the jitters all through the day before; she found herself constantly checking her phone for messages from _him_. She had drafted so many simple notes—all eventually backspaced—that she even had a dream she was trapped inside the app itself.

_ReyRomano is typing…_

She considered asking ‘ _How are u doing :)_ ’, or even ‘ _im looking forward to meeting you :)_ ’. Both were nixed. Rey worried they would feel too personal, too eager, too _something_. Tone didn’t translate well over text to begin with, and KyloRen seemed especially hard to read.

She’d settled on something simple and to-the-point like him.

> _> ReyRomano: just checking that we’re still on for tomorrow morning :)_

Three hours later, she’d gotten a simple and to-the-point response:

> _> KyloRen: Yes._

Rey folded her hands in her lap, eyes flitting around the Starbucks once more. She laced her fingers together, hoping to feel less restless. She closed her eyes; now seemed like a good time to attempt those breathing techniques Finn had tried to teach her.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben ran a hurried hand through his hair before shoving it into his pocket, waiting for the elevator to reach the ground floor of First Order Tower.

He’d slept on the couch in his office last night. It was too small for him, lacking both the length and width he needed to wake up well-rested. He knew he looked tired; it had shown on his face in the executive bathroom mirror. He’d splashed his face with cold water—it didn’t do much—and grudgingly labored his way into a suit. He was overdressed, and he knew it; he’d have to run directly from their meeting to the Q3 earnings call.

He hoped she wouldn’t mind the pretense.

The man walked the six blocks to 575 5th Avenue, hastily checking his watch as he hurried.

 _6:57_. _6:58_.

Some of his anxiousness lifted when the glass façade of the Starbucks came into sight; so, too, did some lift when he gently pushed open the door and spotted a familiar face.

There: the girl.

 _With her eyes closed_.

A pang of guilt struck him again: he did feel awful about it being so early. He remembered what it was like to be a student, he wasn’t _that_ old—and he certainly wouldn’t have been out of bed at this hour. Ever. For anyone.

Ben came to a standstill just a few steps in the door. It was too early in the morning for tourists; only a light trickle of people mingled with their morning coffees, some reading the paper, some already at work on their laptops. None of them paid him any mind. The baristas probably watched him watching her, but New York baristas knew well to mind their own business.

The girl was peculiar indeed. She wore a grey sweater dress that hugged her in all the wrong places and tented her where it should’ve been tight. Her head slumped a little to the side, resting on the wall adjacent to the table she’d selected. Ben saw only mascara—none of the foundation, bronzer, highlight, lip liner, lip stain, fake eyelashes, and done brows that practically seemed the sugar baby uniform. When his eyes dipped to her nails, he noted that they were clean but short and unpainted.

He blinked.

Maybe it meant she wasn’t the type to bullshit him: good. Or, maybe she didn’t care: bad. Maybe she was just naïve: that could swing either way.

Weirder still, there was a coffee in front of her. She’d _bought herself_ a coffee. On a meet and greet. A sugaring meet and greet.

That was certainly a first.

The man, as casually as he could manage, sauntered over to the girl.

“Rey?”

 

* * *

 

 

To say that Rey was embarrassed would be an understatement. A _big_ one.

She’d jumped when he said her name, pulling her out of meditation— _or had she fallen asleep?_ —with a jolt.

“I’m so sorry,” she stood, sending the chair skidding behind her. “Yes, I’m Rey.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She didn’t remember 6’3” being quite so tall as her eyes scanned up, up, up to find his. The same man from the photos— _that’s a relief_ —looked down at her, a warm-looking smile on his long, angular face.

“Nice to meet you too, Rey.” His brown eyes seemed to crinkle at the edges for a second. “I’m just going to grab a coffee; can I get you something?”

“Oh,” she said quickly, “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Of course.”

She gaped after him; she hadn’t expected his hand to be so large and warm on hers. She hadn’t expected him to be as soft-spoken and smooth as he seemed.

She certainly hadn’t expected him to show up in a tuxedo.

A rising sense of panic reemerged; as she looked him up and down, his back now turned to her, it couldn’t be clearer that they were from completely different worlds. She glanced at his shoes and his watch, just as Ana had told her to.

_You can tell a lot about a man by his shoes and his watch._

Rey didn’t know the slightest thing about fashion, but she knew enough to know _expensive_. She hadn’t absorbed the specific brand names her friend had tried to drill into her head, but she did remember some details: the way stitches in handmade dress shoes look, the way oystersteel glints.

She knew that the suit fit him perfectly. Not only did it have to be top-of-the-line, but it had obviously been tailored specifically for his measurements. Smooth black fabric framed his chest in a shawl collar, resting along strong shoulders. A lustrous satin stripe ran down each leg on either side of his pant. Gauntlet cuffs were secured with cufflinks that glinted in the morning light. The dress shirt he wore under his jacket was crisp and unwrinkled, and she found herself grateful that he’d eschewed a tie and left the top button open.

It was the only casual thing about him.

Rey glanced down at her lap, palming the scratchy knitted fabric that laid overtop her thighs. She’d bought her dress at TJ Maxx, a splurge she still hadn’t forgiven herself for.

When it was his turn, she watched him order— _grande mocha, hot_ —and hand over a card that looked metal and heavy.

If Ana were here, Rey had no doubt she would be no less than _thrilled_. _Rey_ , though? Rey found herself faced with a reality she wasn’t sure she was prepared to handle.

_Run. You’ll never be good enough._

“Rey,” his deep timbre slid over her as _he_ slid into the chair across hers. “You look lovely today.”

 _Oh._ “Oh, thank you—” she stammered, a blush heating her cheeks. “You too.”

He offered a fond smile.

“Could we exchange IDs, please? I’d like to, _ah_ , confirm your age.”

“Oh. Sure, yeah—”

Rey rifled through the fraying tote bag she’d been trying to conceal behind her chair— _so much for that_ —and dug it out. He, in turn, slipped his out of what she was sure was an impossibly expensive leather wallet.

_New York State_

_Driver’s License_

_Benjamin Solo_

_11-19-1983_

She focused on committing the name to memory while she watched him turn her ID over in his hands a few times, then bend it lightly. When he seemed satisfied it was real, he handed it back with an apology.

“I’m sorry. Occasionally one hears stories of underage girls lying on the site.”

“It’s fine,” Rey replied, even somewhat reassured by the gesture, “I totally understand.”

“You _are_ young, though,” he said hesitantly, deep brown eyes flicking in the direction of her ID, “but you turn 21 soon, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he murmured, taking a sip of his mocha. Whatever nervousness that plagued her seemed not to affect him at all. “Tell me more about yourself?”

Unconsciously, Rey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like she always did when nervous. He had leaned back, his head quirked to the side. It was oddly endearing. She found her blush deepening.

“Right, _uhm_ , so yeah, like I said I’m a computer science and math student at Tandon: the math because I love it, the computer science to be employed.” He chuckled, and she found herself relaxing. “I, _uhm_ , run a lot of camps and workshops and stuff on campus for local middle and high school girls to explore computing. That’s something that’s important to me—doing outreach, since I found my way into my field through outreach programs.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

Rey shrugged. “Truthfully, I think that’s my dream job: grant writing. But engineering is more practical, and I’m good at it, so I’m going with it for now. I’m hoping I can retire early and take a non-profit salary later.”

She thought she saw a little bit of a twinkle in his eyes; she worried, vaguely, about going into cardiac arrest. Rey brushed another strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’s lovely,” Ben started, shifting a little in his chair, tucking one leg over the other. “I’m afraid I’m nowhere as moral; I work in investment management. We serve pension funds, endowments, foundations, foreign governments, and central banks—that sort of thing. I also manage our venture capital arm, though that’s smaller.”

“As one does.”

The man across from her grinned knowingly.

“As one does,” he echoed softly, casting a glance at his hands for a moment. “So, Rey, tell me: have you been in an arrangement before?”

“No, _uhm_ … sir.”

His eyebrows climbed up his forehead, the corner of his mouth quirking. Rey wanted to slap herself; it seemed like the right thing to say, what with the suit and _investment management_ and all…

“ _’No, Ben’_ ,” he murmured softly, something husky in his voice—something that hadn’t been there before. She flushed redder.

“No, Ben.”

“Good.”

He sounded annoyingly nonchalant considering the _zap!_ she’d just felt between her thighs. She pressed them together under the table, trying to get any amount of friction, and swallowed. She swore she saw a glimmer in his eyes just before he spoke again.

“I have—been in arrangements, that is. Three, specifically. They all ended amicably—different wants and needs, grew apart, that sort of thing. I am, of course, happy to provide references.”

“Oh, I, _uhm_ —”

Ben held up a large hand, suddenly aware she may feel put on the spot. “No worries, you don’t need to make a decision now.”

He found himself shifting again. He really did hate meet-and greets; they somehow always managed to feel like both parties were on trial. Even if that _was_ the truth, he hated the thought of making a less powerful, less wealthy girl feel like she needed to impress him. Especially if it was the difference between—well, what _was_ it the difference between?

Ben folded his hands in his lap, allowing his eyes to wander for a moment. Loose garment, no treatments—no highlights, no manicure, no eyelash extensions—and a fraying, corporate-branded tote: the kind that was given out at career fairs. He knew, of course, the financial realities of sugaring and why girls were drawn to it. Still, he hoped she wasn’t here only out of financial necessity.

“Rey?” he asked gently, “What are you looking for in an arrangement?”

 _Shit_ , she thought. _Don’t talk about money. Don’t talk about money. It’s crass._

“Well,” she heard herself say, “I feel like I have pretty ambitious career goals, and I know the importance of finding mentors. It’s definitely hard to find successful people though—there’s so much posturing in New York—and I think it would be helpful to learn from someone who actually leads a successful life.”

Ben smiled and nodded politely in response. It was a good answer: the kind of answer a girl-in-the-know would give. Maybe she wasn’t as naïve as he’d thought.

“Well, let me tell you a bit about what I’m looking for, and you can think about whether you’d like to move forward.”

The girl nodded, big hazel eyes full of something he couldn’t place. She raised her own cup and sipped gingerly. _Yes, still nervous. Poor thing._

Rey chugged her drink, the warm froth of her chai latte oddly comforting. The sense that she was wildly out of place here—here, on fifth avenue, in front of _this_ man—still floated in the back of her mind.

“I’m looking for one or two meets during the week—dinner, sometimes more.” _Dinner and sex_. “Ideally, I’m looking for someone who can spend weekends with me, though I recognize that’s something to be worked up to. I, _ah_ , have a demanding job. I’m not always able to provide, _ah_ , the same time and attention as a traditional relationship, so I’ve found arrangements work best.”

She nodded, a sad little smile forming on her lips. So, Ana had been right: he was lonely.

“Of course, I understand.”

Ben suppressed the urge to say something.

 _I know you do_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Order Associates, LP is based on the real-life Bridgewater Associates, LP, whose cult-like reputation and aggressive hedge fund management reminded me a lot of the Star Wars FO. 
> 
> First Order Tower is based on the real-life Bank of America Tower, a mostly-glass sleek skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan (actually near this Starbucks location!).
> 
> Ben wears a Ralph Lauren purple label handmade shawl collar tuxedo, minus the accompanying tie, and Gaspard Galet Calf Leather Derby shoes by Berluti.
> 
> The watch is based on the Rolex Oyster Perpetual 39mm--which Adam Driver wears in real life--but we're pretending it's a Breitling due to the recent sexy af ad campaign.


	6. Of course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting!

Rey couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing this all wrong.

She’d spent the last few nights scouring the sugar lifestyle forum on Reddit because _of course she had_.

Her confidence had only fallen the more she read.

Sugar babies were supposed to be young and vibrant; they were supposed to bring happiness and joy and energy to the sugar daddy’s life. Popular accounts of successful meet and greets involved detailed descriptions of instant chemistry, lots of laughter, and absolutely no pauses in conversation.

Rey frowned down at her drink.

She thought the man was nice, she really did—handsome, too. _Very_. She liked him for sure, but she doubted her ability to ever be _that girl_. She counted herself an optimist, but to be immediately bright and bubbly with a stranger?

Worse, where she lacked social charm, he clearly had all the right breeding. He knew how to carry a conversation, how to ask the right questions; he seemed perfectly well-adjusted.

 _She_ was the one failing.

“Rey?”

“Oh, um,” she cleared her throat. “Sorry. Just thinking about what you said.”

She pushed the paper scraps of a straw wrapper around on the table idly.

She tried to produce a warm smile, but the seed of insecurity grew in her belly.

“How does that sound, Rey?” Ben prompted gently, tilting his head to the side. The waves of his hair, even now—even with circles under his eyes—looked comparatively perfect.

“I—I—”

The blush turned into the heat of panic on her cheeks. She frowned down into her hands.

“It’s normal to be nervous, you know.”

She looked up into warm eyes that seemed gentle and understanding and protective.

He smiled for a moment; then he doubted himself a little, corners turning down slightly.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What? Oh, no—” Rey straightened up, extending her hands. “No, no, no—not at all. I’m just awkward,” she said without thinking, “Gah. _I mean I’m_ —I’m—”

“It’s okay,” Ben said with a soft chuckle, “I’m awkward too.”

Rey found herself giggling and then, _oh god_ , returning his grin.

_Okay. Okay, you can do this._

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What you said. It sounds good.”

She watched the man relax—almost imperceptibly—into his chair. “I’m glad to hear that, Rey.”

He ran one hand through his hair and she wondered, vaguely, if perhaps he had been just as anxious. The thought made her feel a little warm inside—a tiny bit more comfortable in an objectively uncomfortable situation.

“So,” he continued, interrupting her inner monologue, “I don’t expect a decision here, obviously. That would place undue pressure on you; I don’t believe in moving forward immediately after a simple meet and greet. You should have some time to reflect. But, in the event you do want to move forward, let’s discuss logistics?”

Rey just nodded.

_Sure, logistics. Of course._

“Right, so, as mentioned before, I’m based in Tribeca. I’m happy to accommodate your transportation needs in whatever way works best for you, Rey. I could send my driver, Adam, to pick you up; or, I could just set your Uber or Lyft to auto-fill from my account; or, if you prefer, something else. And I’ll get you a MetroCard, regardless. Do you have a strong preference?”

Rey’s head spun. She was the kind of girl who scrounged under the seats at the Student Union for spare change for bus fare, not the kind of girl who used an app to get everywhere. She was _especially_ not the kind of girl whose fares got charged to someone else.

But then, wasn’t that the whole point of this?

“I… I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I can manage on my own, I mean. Like, _um_ ,” she shook her head back and forth, a little flustered, “don’t worry about it.”

The man wore a small, knowing smirk. “Rey, is this going to be a problem?”

“Sorry?”

“Do you find it hard to accept help?”

“I…”

She trailed off, one of many times that day. It was a surprisingly fair question; he might even be right.

“…maybe…”

Ben smiled and shook his head. _God, she was cute_. She wasn’t the first girl with this problem, and it might even be a good sign—but it had to stop, nonetheless. Nothing was going to work if she fought his generosity at every turn.

He hummed softly and took a sip of his mocha.

When he leaned forward, inching closer to her, his voice seemed to have dropped an octave.

“Rey,” he said slowly, enunciating every letter of her name, “I want you to take what I give you without argument.”

Rey, for her part, had been in the middle of swallowing a mouthful of chai foam. She suppressed the sudden urge to choke, eyes blown out into wide orbs.

 _Oh_.

She couldn’t help but notice the sensual undertone of his voice—of what it suggested.

She found herself crossing her legs under the table, wrapping her fingers together to prevent herself from fidgeting.

“I…”

“Say yes,” he prompted, not a command, only a helpful suggestion, much as if he was giving her the right answer on an exam.

It was what she needed: permission to say it.

She nodded before the word found its way out. “Okay. Yes.”

“ _Good girl._ ”

She knew it was coming, but that did nothing to stifle its impact. Rey felt herself blushing furiously again, the same mischievous look she’d seen before dancing in the man’s eyes.

_Fuck. I’m so screwed._

“Well,” he started, apparently completing unaffected by the whole thing— _that bastard_ — “I can understand that you may be hesitant to get into a stranger’s car for a while, so I’ll provide the latter two options. I can always send Adam for you later, when you’re more comfortable.”

“You can’t give me all that.”

“I mean, I can.”

 _And will_.

“I…”

“Yes, Rey. Say yes.”

Rey hid her face behind the cup in her hands, chugging with zeal. “Yes,” she managed to squeak between breaths.

“Great, so that’s settled.” Ben waved his hand lazily, going over the list of action items in his head. “We can decide which days to spend together if you decide you would like to move forward. I think a good starting place would be one weeknight and day in the weekend. Do you agree?”

“Sure, that’s—that sounds good.”

“Great. We don’t have to do overnights to start, so I would only be expecting afternoons and evenings. I _will_ insist on securing you a safe ride home, though—no metro.”

Rey watched as he stretched his long arms to cup the back of his head. “Occasionally I travel for business. I’ve had companions travel with me in the past, sometimes. I understand if you can’t, what with school and all—” he gestured once, “but I have status on all the major airlines, so try not to argue if I offer. Upgrades don’t cost me anything to begin with.”

Rey just blinked. _Airlines. Status? What_ —

“You do have a passport, right?”

“Oh, uh, yes.”

“United Kingdom?”

“Yes.”

He considered her for a long moment. When he finally spoke, he did so delicately. “Are you far from home, or is home here?”

Rey blinked at the odd question, but a small smile played at her lips. She stomped down whatever strand of sadness threatened to weave itself into her reaction; after all, she had Finn and Poe and Ana here. She was happy. “Home… is here.”

The man nodded, filing away the answer for future reference.

He looked as if he had questions, but he had decided to save them for another time.

“Rey,” he said slowly, “I do have, uh, one potentially disqualifying requirement. It turns a lot of potentials off, and I understand if you can’t meet it—”

Rey sucked in a sharp breath. _Oh god. Here we go. Here it is. He can only get off upside down while_ —

“—I really need exclusivity. I understand that it’s a bit unfair to ask that of you, so I understand if you need to say no. It just…” he went quiet for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line, “Well, to be honest, I’m not very gracious when it comes to sharing.”

He cast a nervous glance at her, then at his hands.

“I know that’s selfish, but of course I’m happy to compensate accordingly.”

The heavy weight pressing down on Rey lifted; she sighed audibly at the strength of relief that she felt.

“I—no—Ben, that’s fine. That’s great. That’s easier for me, actually. I don’t really want to—want to…”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

“Okay.”

They both blushed, sharing a smile. He was right; they _were_ both awkward.

Ben cast a regretful look at his too-expensive watch. “Rey, I’m so sorry, I have to get going soon,” he mumbled something about an earnings call, punctuated by a little huff of indignation at the thought of how his work life managed to perpetually ruin his personal one.

“No worries, I understand.”

“I suppose we should wrap up the details, then.”

Rey managed an agreeable nod, unsure of what exactly he meant.

The man across from her shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward a bit. “Rey, I’m going to talk about money now. I know it’s likely to make you uncomfortable, so let’s do this: just as with everything else, you won’t decide now. I’ll just tell you my figures, and then we’ll get up and I’ll get you a taxi home, where you can think everything over.”

It was her turn to squirm in her seat. He was right; she already knew this was going to be uncomfortable for her. It was the part she dreaded the most.

“Okay?”

She nodded, slowly. “Okay.”

“You promise not to object? Unless, of course, the numbers are too low for you, in which case you should tell me, so we can discuss—”

“I promise.”

And that— _that’s_ when Rey disassociated. He calmly laid out details of his allowance as if it was a perfectly normal thing to discuss in any old Starbucks on a Friday morning. Rey’s head swam, suddenly light with the feeling that _this could not be real_.

She was grateful when he offered her his arm, escorting her just as calmly to the curb, where he hailed a taxi. She watched, still floating in shock, as he handed the driver a crisp $100 bill and handed her an envelope and a business card.

“It was lovely meeting you, Rey. Take some time to think this over; please make whatever decision is the right thing for you. Should you want to proceed with me, Rey, just call the number on my card. You will reach my personal assistant, who will schedule our next meeting.”

Rey had already collapsed against the soft leather of the taxi-cab. “I can’t text you?” she asked stupidly, brows knitting together. She frowned, her lips unconsciously maneuvering into a pout that Ben thought was _adorable_.

“Of course you can,” he assured her, softly, “whenever you want.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rey stared at the perfect, slanting script on the thick cardstock she held in her hands.

_Rey,_

_It was lovely to meet you. I hope you liked me as much as I must have liked you._

_Here is a token of my appreciation for your time._

_Please enjoy your weekend._

_Ben_

The Visa gift card had fallen into her lap as soon as she opened the envelope.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere over the Brooklyn Bridge, stuck in traffic, Rey managed to come to her senses enough to type out a quick message.

 

 

> _> Rey: HELP HES MENTAL_

Only a moment later, her phone dinged.

 

 

> _> AnaDuvoss: !!!!! im gonna call the police if u dont tell me ur ok rn_
> 
> _> Rey: no no no_
> 
> _> Rey: not like that_
> 
> _> Rey: pls_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: ??? do u need me to pick u up_
> 
> _> Rey: no he was really nice_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: ????????? ho u gave me a HEART ATTACK_
> 
> _> Rey: i think hes highkey tryna bankrupt himself tho_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: ?? !! omg details rn_
> 
> _> Rey: Ana i dont think im cut out for this_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: rey u tell me whats going on rn_
> 
> _> Rey: ugh i really really dont think i can handle this much_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: PPM DETAILS NOW HOOOO_
> 
> _> Rey: 1000_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: PPM?!_
> 
> _> Rey: ya_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: how many meets per month_
> 
> _> Rey: 2 a week so..8_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: HOLY SHIT_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: REY_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: MY BABY IS DOING THE DAMN THING_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: but holy shit dude_
> 
> _> Rey: ikr i think i like blacked out when he told me. Im really not equipped for this_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: did you get his name?_
> 
> _> Rey: ya_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: gimme_
> 
> _> Rey: y_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: imma google him to find out what kinda crazy oil baron shit this dude does_
> 
> _> Rey: idk_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: REY!_
> 
> _> Rey: idk if i wanna know_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: ???????????????????????????????_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: do u think hes sketchy???_
> 
> _> Rey: no i just.._
> 
> _> Rey: i just wanna see him as a person_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: gd it rey_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: why r u like this_
> 
> _> AnaDuvoss: ;) <3_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up that I may go without posting for the next two weeks or so: midterms season has struck.


End file.
